


Ways to Be Beautiful

by hymnaries (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:12:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/hymnaries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel gets his wings back in a dusty tattoo parlor in Santa Fe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ways to Be Beautiful

Of the somewhat limited range of tattoo parlors in Santa Fe, Trish’s Tattoos and Piercings is the only one Castiel doesn’t wrinkle his nose at. As far as Dean’s concerned, that’s reason enough to hook his fingers under the hem of Cas’s t-shirt and drag him inside.  

Convincing Castiel to get an anti-possession tattoo had been surprisingly easy. But agreeing to it and actually  _doing_ it are two largely different things, and the fallen angel has been exploiting that fact for several weeks now. Only after three full days of constant nagging from both Dean and Sam did Castiel begrudgingly consent to search for a tattoo parlor in New Mexico on their way back from reversing a Native American curse a few towns over. 

Now, it appears that their exhaustive search might just be over. 

The shop is a strange amalgamation of traditional Native American craftwork and religious iconography. Braided tapestries and paintings of saints alternate on the clay walls in addition to several smaller framed photographs of past clients, young and old, showing off their tattoos proudly in what must be a small courtyard out back, surrounded by flowers and succulents beneath the desert sun.

Dean’s eyes slide over the wall art to Castiel who, much to his relief, is smiling at a gold-framed image of the Virgin Mary. In the painting, she is brushing aside her veil to reveal a heart ringed in roses. It shines just as delicately as the smattering of stars twinkling around her head. 

"I think I like this place," Castiel murmurs. 

Dean smiles at him and guides them towards the back of the shop where a young woman - Trish, presumably - is sketching idly at an artist’s desk. Her deeply tanned skin is painted with tattoos. An intricate cross emerges from a wash of white clouds on her shoulder, and the insides of her wrists are covered in small cherry blossoms that look like they’ve bloomed right out of her veins. 

But the most impressive piece is across her back. An entire mountain landscape stretches out between her shoulder blades, the water color finish mixing so effortlessly with the warm palette of her skin that it’s difficult to tell which hues actually belong to the ink itself. 

Dean has a feeling they’ve come to the right place.

At the sound of their feet shuffling across the floor, the woman glances over her shoulder and gives them a small wave. 

"Gimme one sec," she says. “There’s a couch near the door if you wanna make yourselves comfortable."

There’s an almost childish lilt to her voice that Dean finds oddly appealing. He nods his head and joins Cas on the couch at the front of the shop. The building looks out on the central plaza of the city which, at midday, is quiet and devoid of people who have better sense than to venture out into the stifling heat. Beyond that lies another row of shops and restaurants, all done in the pueblo style, and the Saint Francis Cathedral. Dean presumes that Cas will be tugging him into that same church before the day is out. 

"Are you nervous?" Dean asks after a moment, eyes taking in Castiel’s pensive expression and neatly folded hands. 

"I doubt the pain will bother me, if thats what you mean."

"Tough guy," Dean teases. He’s not sure when he became such an insufferable flirt around Castiel, but neither of them really seems to mind. 

"You wanna know something?" he adds a minute later. “I was totally freaked when I got my tattoo."

"Really?"

"Had to hold Sammy’s hand ‘n everything."

"I think you’re, as they say, yanking my chain."

Dean laughs and holds up two fingers. “Scout’s honor. So if you, uh, you know, need a hand to squeeze or something…"

Trish chooses that exact moment to emerge from the back of the shop, brushing charcoal off her hands and onto the worn denim of her shorts. She tucks a strand of long, auburn hair behind her ear and greets them with a wide smile. 

"Sorry ‘bout the wait, guys. What can I do for you today?"

Dean roots around in his pocket for the sketch he and Sam both used as a reference for their anti-possession tattoos, and presents it to Trish with a smile. 

"My buddy wants this symbol on his back."

Trish scans the image and nods approvingly. Her dark, warm eyes fall on Castiel. “And does this buddy of yours have a name?"

Castiel extends his hand with a pleasant smile. “Castiel."

Trish takes his hand and squeezes it between her palms. Her cherry blossom tattoos press against his wrist. “I’m Trish. And you are?"

Dean meets her gaze. “Dean."

"Well, nice to meet you Castiel and Dean. What do you say I get this tattoo sketched up and then we’ll get started?"

Castiel seems to consider this for a moment, then asks quietly, “Would it be possible for me to get wings on either side of the symbol?"

"Like an angel’s?"

Dean watches the almost imperceptible tightening of Castiel’s chest. They’ve made progress since the Fall, but he forgets sometimes that Cas still bears it like an open wound. And try as they might, Dean and Sam can’t seem to get it closed. 

After a moment, Cas nods and Trish hums. Without preamble, she raises the hem of her tank top to reveal another tattoo on her side - an angel cloaked in pale blue robes with a set of white wings rising up behind him, outlined lightly in black ink. 

"Do you want ‘em realistic like mine? Or something more abstract?"

Cas peers at the tattoo for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, then replies, “Like yours, only larger. If you wouldn’t mind."

"I like the way you think."

After ten minutes at her desk, Trish returns with an outline of the anti-possession symbol and two large, feathery wings hanging down on either side of it. Dean whistles appreciatively and Castiel actually looks excited as he pulls off his shirt and bares his back for Trish. She presses the outline to it and sends him off to the mirror to make sure everything’s in order. 

While Cas admires the design, she turns to Dean and asks, “You want something done, too? It’s a slow day and I’ve got plenty of time."

Dean smiles. “Tempting, but I think it’s just Cas today."

Trish shrugs and leads them both to the reclined chair in the corner. Wordlessly, Cas crawls onto it and folds his arms beneath his chin. Dean pulls up a stool beside him while Trish preps her tools, singing something by Tom Petty under her breath. 

"Because your tattoo is on the large side, this is gonna take a while," she explains once her arsenal is ready. “So if you need a break, just let me know. Some parts will hurt more than others and I’ll warn you about ‘em as we go, but something tells me you’re gonna be a real champion about it either way."

"You bet he is," Dean adds encouragingly. 

Castiel smiles. “Well, at the very least, I’ll try."

"Good enough for me," says Trish. “You ready to get started?"

And, even if he’s not, Castiel nods. Dean’s eyes flick between the fallen angel and the suddenly menacing-looking tattoo gun in Trish’s hand. She flicks the power on and the shop is filled with the loud buzz of the needle. 

"Dean," Castiel says over the noise, “if the offer still stands, I think I’d like to hold your hand."

Warmth spreads through Dean’s chest and a blush rises in his cheeks, but he grabs Castiel’s hand as soon as the words reach his ears. 

"Thought you’d never ask."

He knows Trish’s needle has made contact with Castiel’s skin the minute his hand is subjected to a powerful squeeze. But, as he predicted, Cas doesn’t utter a single syllable of discomfort. Champion is right.

As she works, Trish bears the same kind of intense focus Dean has seen in Sam every time his brother sits down to do research: steady hands, creased brow, and a gaze that could pierce through metal. 

Without taking her eyes off of the spot where her needle scratches black ink into Castiel’s skin, Trish asks, “So, why this symbol in particular? If you don’t mind my asking."

Dean feels Castiel’s eyes flick over to him briefly before he replies in a slightly strained voice: “It’s to match Dean’s. His brother also has one. Sort of a…family thing."

"Oh, I didn’t realize you two were related."

"We’re not," they say at the same time. 

The corner of Trish’s mouth quirks up. Her hand glides easily over Castiel’s back, looping a circle of black ink into his skin. She’s an artist, Dean realizes, and Cas is her canvas.

"How long have you two been together, then?" she asks, and pretends not to notice when Dean jerks his head up to look at her, wide-eyed.

Flirting with Cas is one thing, but having other people acknowledge their weird-ass relationship isn’t exactly something he’s ready for.

"We’ve been together several years now," Cas replies, not even bothering to look at Dean for agreement, but Dean finds that he doesn’t mind it nearly as much as he thought he would.

Trish hums. “I can tell. It’s all in the body language."

Castiel brushes his thumb lightly over Dean’s. “Have you and your husband been married long? I noticed your ring when you were sketching earlier."

Dean peers down at Trish’s left hand to confirm that, yes, a silver band adorns her ring finger. A small diamond sits on top of it. Dean gets the idea that Trish is someone who appreciates the simple things, jewelry included. 

"Been with my man for six years now," Trish replies. She keeps her voice level but there’s an undeniable hint of giddiness to it. 

_My man_. Dean finds he likes the phrase for no other reason than the fact that Castiel’s name would fit nicely on the tail end of it. 

"I met Jay right here in this shop, actually," Trish continues. “He came in one day and asked me to tattoo a dove with the name ‘Eric’ underneath. Turns out Eric was his brother who’d passed a few months earlier from cancer. Well, I gave him the tattoo and he came right back in the next day and asked for another one! I wound up giving that man  _three tattoos_  before he worked up the nerve to ask me out."

"And you married him," Cas says with a smile. Dean figures his back must be starting to numb.

Trish beams. “Sure did. Jay’s got a sense of humor that could put any self-respecting comedian to shame and a heart of gold to match it. He can be impulsive sometimes and Lord knows he’s even more stubborn than I am, but we balance each other that way. I think that’s what everybody needs in a relationship. Somebody who challenges them in the ways they need to be challenged and lifts them up in every way they need lifting."

Dean’s eyes inevitably drift to Castiel and to the place where their hands are joined. He smiles softly to himself. Castiel’s grip has loosened over the past few minutes and Dean takes the opportunity to retract his hand so he can trace his fingertips along the inside of Castiel’s palm. Cas sighs pleasantly and lets his eyes drift close.

By the time Trish moves on to the first feathers of the wings, the conversation has drifted to the tattoo parlor itself. “How’d you wind up opening shop out here anyway?" Dean asks.

"You mean how did a girl like me get into the tattoo business?" Trish replies. “Well, I went to art school right here in Santa Fe, but by the time I graduated I still had no idea what kind of artist I wanted to be. Somehow tattooing seemed like the most natural venue. My parents were skeptical at first, but they wound up being my first customers when I opened up shop here."

"What’d you give ‘em?"

"Each other’s names, of course," Trish sighs. “In white ink. If you want an example of people so in love it makes your teeth rot, my parents are prime."

"That’s sweet," says Castiel. 

Dean snorts. “Careful, Trish, you’re turning him into one of those hopeless romantic types."

"Says the man who cried when Doctor Sexy broke up with Gina last week."

And Dean doesn’t really have anything to say about that.

Hours later, the buzz of the needle fades and Castiel has a work of art on his back. Trish flexes her hands and cracks her neck and looks altogether pleased with her handiwork. Dean can’t blame her. The wings feather out gracefully from the anti-possession symbol, stretching midway down either side of Castiel’s spine. They look like something Dean’s seen behind the altar of old New England churches, aged and beautiful and quietly divine. 

"What do you think?"

Castiel peers around his shoulder, lips parted, eyes running across the dark lines sweeping down his back. “It’s beautiful."

Dean touches Trish’s shoulder lightly. “Thank you," he murmurs.  _For being kind, for being normal, for giving Cas his wings back._

"Thank  _you_. And if you ever want another tattoo, you give me a call, alright? You can come by in the morning and Jay and I will have you over for dinner that night."

Dean smiles. “I’ll be sure to take you up on that."

"You better."

Castiel embraces Trish for a brief moment before they leave. And though she couldn’t possibly know what she’s done for him today, Trish hugs back just as tightly, careful not to press down on the bandage where her artwork lies. Dean turns his gaze to the dusty streets of Santa Fe and the long shadows of the buildings in the late afternoon sun, letting them have their moment in peace. 

When they leave at last, Trish waves them both off from the doorway, cherry blossoms bursting from her wrist.

Weeks later, when words unspoken have at last come to light and they’re making love in the quiet hours before dawn, Dean trails his fingertips over Castiel’s shoulder blades, tracing the lines of the tattoo. And for a moment, a single heartbeat of a moment, he thinks he feels the brush of feathers on his skin, a soft whisper of heavenly light slipping through his fingertips like dust.


End file.
